


I Don't Get Drunk (I Get Awesome)

by DesertLily



Series: What A Night [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alcohol, Bar Crawl AU, Drunk confessions, Fluf, M/M, Most characters are only mentioned, Pining, Race is the sober friend, Race vapes, Sharing a Bed, Spot is soft when drunk, Vaping, drunk Spot, drunk cuddling, mcdonalds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertLily/pseuds/DesertLily
Summary: Racetrack gets called to come and pick up a drunk Albert but ends up going home with Spot Conlon. A trip to mcDonalds and drunken confessions occur.





	I Don't Get Drunk (I Get Awesome)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dyingpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/gifts).



> Once again, this is set in Sheffield and a gift for a friend!!

When Albert had invited him on the pub crawl, Antonio Higgins had just rolled his eyes. Competitive drinking with the rival university wasn’t exactly Racetrack’s ideal way to spend a Friday night. Even if Spot Conlon - who he was absolutely in no way in love with - would be there. He had more important things to do. Such as the 2,500 word physics essay due on Monday that he had yet to even start. Although, that didn’t stop Race from being a good friend and flatmate. He even used the glitter pens he usually saved for his revision notes to write ‘A L B E R T’ neatly on the back of his friend’s t-shirt. As much as Albert whined at him, Race remained firm. He had no intentions of going out on the bar crawl.   
  
So, justifiably, he had settled in for the night with a large cup of coffee besides him and his laptop balanced on the kitchen table. Race had no intentions of going out and set to work. That was, of course, until an influx of texts began to come through on his phone, causing it. I buzz lightly loudly. Just great. His plans of devoting the night to productivity seemed to be thrown out the window. All the texts came from the same contact; [Sad Cowbi🤠]. Also known as Jack Kelly to everyone else. Race refused to change the name out of pure stubbornness and the sheer fact that it irritated Jack.   
  
**[3:15am] Racer**  
 **[3:15am] Racer**  
 **[3:16am] Racer**  
  
 _[3:21am] What???_  
  
 **[3:22am] Get to Medda’s**  
 **[3:23am] Now pls**  
 **[3:23am] Albert’s hammered**  
  
 _[3:24am] Why is that my problem??_  
  
 **[3:25am] He’s your flatmate**  
 **[3:25am] Also Spot Conlon’s here 👀😏**  
  
 _[3:26am] Why does everyone think we’re dating?? 🙄🙄_  
  
 **[3:28am] You’re not?**  
  
 _[3:35am] You know what? Never mind. I’ll be there soon._   
  
**[3:36am] 👌🏻🙏🏻🙌🏻😜**  
  
Racetrack sighed at that, rubbing at the gap between his eyes. Great. There went his plans for a quiet evening in. He was going to kill Al for this. Absolutely slaughter him. A complete homicide. All Race wanted was one night to himself. Was that really too much to ask for? And what was with everyone thinking he had a thing for Spot Conlon? Sure, he was handsome, and had a cute laugh, and adorable dimples, and the most breath-taking smile, and...Oh God. He had a crush on Spot Conlon. Shit. That was inconvenient. In hindsight, it made sense. It explained why Race always felt so relaxed around him, despite Spot’s reputation and the fact they attended rival universities. It also explained why his heart skipped a beat every time Spot so much as looked at him.   
  
Racetrack decided to push all thoughts of Spot out of his mind. He had more vital things to worry about. Like somehow making sure his flatmate got home in one piece. Maybe he should have gone on the pub crawl after all. At least then he could have played the role of the sober friend. That, or the fact he’d probably deal with things better if he was in fact significantly less sober. Still, he cared too much about Al to just leave him like this. Race absolutely planned on cashing in this favour with Albert. Best friend or not, he just wanted to write his damn essay! Grabbing the closest pair of shoes and slinging a coat over what was definitely not one of his most flattering outfits - he hadn’t been expecting to go out! - he grabbed his keys, wallet, and vape tank (so maybe he was finally trying to quit smoking!) before proceeding to race out of the front door. He didn’t even remember to lock it behind him.   
  
He briefly considered bracing the night alone before deciding to call himself a cab. Better safe than sorry, right? Maybe he hadn’t needed to rush out so quickly...Too late now, right? He found himself waiting outside for the taxi with a growing anxiety; it couldn’t come soon enough, in his opinion. Race was on edge for the entire journey, not even able to offer the cab driver any decent conversation. Instead, his mind was racing with thoughts of every possible situation Albert could possibly drank himself into.   
  
Not soon enough, the cab was pulling up outside Medda Larkin’s Irish Pub. He quickly thanked the driver and paid the fare - £4.80 - before climbing out. Thankfully, it was close enough to closing time for the queue outside to be non-existent. Race raced inside as fast as he could. Inside, regardless of how close it was to closing, the party was still going. It was late enough that the usual live singer - Davey - had been replaced by blaring speakers that were currently blasting out ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears. Even Racetrack couldn’t deny it was a bop. Though, Davey very much still seemed to be in the pub and was currently licking lips with Jack in the corner, if Race was seeing things correctly. Good for them, he supposed. From the look of things, the pub was full to the brim with students on the bar crawl. A few familiar faces caught Race’s interest. Particularly someone sitting at the bar. Spot looked positively dishevelled and absolutely plastered. Only he would manage to still  look amazing whilst drunk. Race found himself slowly drifting towards him.   
  
“Hallam ‘til I die!” And that was when Albert, totally off his face and standing on a table with his arm around a University Of Sheffield student, made himself known. There went Race’s plans of talking to Spot. He instead dragged himself over to his friend. Jack had definitely been right to text him. He’d never seen Al so drunk! He could already imagine the hell of a hangover he would have in the morning. Race could also imagine how insufferable he would be to deal with.   
  
The blonde reached out to grab the redhead’s arm. “Al, c’mon. We’re going home.” He tugged him as gently as he could, trying to get Albert off of the table without hurting him. “You’ve had enough to drink.”  
  
Albert whined but let himself be pulled off of the table. “Racer! You came! See? Told you it’d be fun!” He hiccuped, managing to boop Race’s nose whilst firmly holding the hand of the University of Sheffield student. “We don’t gotta go yet!” Albert dragged out the last word as much as he could. Race could already feel a headache coming on and it wasn’t from the loud music.   
  
“Al. You’re pissed. We’re going home.” Race held firm. “Now.”  
  
That caused a pout to stretch across Albert’s face. “Fiiiine.” He slurred. “But I’m bringing my friend with me!” He pulled the Uni of Sheffield student close who just nodded rapidly along with his words. Great. Race suddenly questioned his own eagerness to follow them home. Still, Race headed outside with Albert and his friend following like ducklings. He was quick to get them settled in a cab, paying the driver in advance and making a note of the number plate before watching them drive off into the night. That left Racetrack with one question; what did he do now? Though, an answer seemed to appear out of the corner of his eye. He watched as Spot Conlon stumbles out of the pub. Huh.   
  
“Spot!” Race found himself rushing over to him. An absolutely hammered Spot probably wasn’t the best company, but it was certainly better than Albert and his possible one night stand. Besides, Spot Conlon still had a hold of Race’s heart - even when hopelessly drunk.  
  
The smile Spot gave him in response was dopey and entirely adorable. “Racer!” He quickly flung an arm around his shoulders - a feat that wasn’t made easy by the fact Racetrack towered over Spot. Yet it didn’t stop him trying, pulling him into a half hug as he did. "The finest company I could have asked for!" Race wasn't blushing at that. No, not at all.   
  
A nervous laugh escaped him at that. "C'mon, polka-dots. No teasing..." He hummed, simply watching him for a few moments. Spot's accomodationw as close enough that Race doubed he'd need to call a taxi to get him back. "I'll help you get home. You're absolutely hammered." Racetrack couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at that.   
  
Spot shook his head. "McDonalds." He stated simply.   
  
"McDonalds?" Race blinked.   
  
""Yes, Higgins. We're going to McDonald's." He informed the taller boy seriously. " 'm hungry and we're close." Spot nodded, grabbing Race's hand and practically dragging him along.   
  
"Spot, wait!" He tried not to get too flustered by the fact Spot Conlon was holding his hand. "I love Maccy's as much as rhe next guy, but it's four am!" Racetrack was growing more exasperated by the second. Though, he knew first hand the power of drunken cravings. Even if his own cravins usually revolved around a simple chicken kebab. "You know what? Fuck it. Let's go to Maccy's."    
  
"Really?!" Spot's face lit up at that. "You're the best Racer!"  He declared as they began to walk (or stumble in Spot's case) in the direction of the nearest McDonalds. Irregardless of his drunken status, Spot seemed confident as he lead the way .  
  
As they walked, Spot seemed to bury himself in Race's side, seemingly attempting to get as close as he could. Race definitely didn't mind in the slightest, especially if the smile on his face was anything to go by. Oddly, he was finding himself growing less and less bothered about being dragged out for the night.  Drunk Spot Conlon was far better than drunk Albert. A comfortable silence washed over them as they walked, Race wrapping an arm around the shorter man in the process. Far too soon for his liking, they found themselves standing outside a McDOnalds. Reluctantly, Racetrack pulled his arm away as they headed inside.    
  
Thank God for the touch-screen kiosk. Race couldn't imagine Spot was in much of a condition to be talking to a cashier. A quiet sigh escaped him as he gestured for Spot to pick out his order. "Get what you want. I'll pay." He found himself offering quickly.   
  
"Higgins, I can't-"  
  
Race was quick to cut him off. "You can pay me back later, polka-dots. Go wild." He gestured for him to go ahead. It was a standard order at first - the usual burger and fries - before Spot added something else to the order. A Chicken McNugget sharebox. "You sure yo're going to eat all that?" The blonde asked skeptically, making no move to order himself anything.   
  
Surprisingly, Spot just laughed at that and pat Race's arms. "It's for both of us." He stated simply. "Gotta...Gotta make sure you eat too." Race was oddly touched. "We can split it." He nodded at Racetrack.   
  
He just rolled his eyes, using his bank card to pay contactless before making a mental note of their order number. 83.  Race watched Spot for a few moments. "You really are something else," He couldnt help but laugh.   
  
"Hey" What's that 'sposed to mean?! Spot shoved him.   
  
"Nothin'!" Race shoved him back. It didn't take long for their order to be completed and Race quickly moved to snatch up their bag. "C'mon, Spotty. I'm walking you home." Thankfully, Spot seemed to be perfectly complient whilst intoxicated than the rest of Race's friends. Thank fuck for that! He didn't think he could deal with another Jack or Albert! No, they were the most dramatic drunks Race had ever met. Spot,however, seemed far more cuddly and affectionate than his more serious sober self. Race couldn't help but be amused as he watched as Spot pretty much just inhaled the food rapidly. As he walked, he moved to slip something out of his pocket; his vape tank. Race took a huge intake of steam shortly after.   
  
Spot crinkled his nose as Race blew out a cinnamon scented cloud of steam. "Really, Racer? Didn't take you as the type." He nudged him playfully.  
  
Racetrack flushed red at that. "It doesn't bother you, does it?" He relaxed slightly as Spot shook his head. "I'm trying to cut back on cigs. Break the habit, y'know?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly at that. "Al and Jack been pushing me to do it for medical reasons. Then Romeo gave me his best puppy eyes and it's impossible to say no to that kid."  
  
"Well, I'm proud of you." Spot wrapped an arm around his wasit and Race all but melted into his touch. He was definitely enjoying how affectionate the other man was being. He just hoped sober Spot wouldn't regret it. It was soothing in a way. This wasn't a side of Spot he saw often. Though, it was a side he very much enjoyed. "You gotta look after yourself, Racer. Dunno what I'd do if anything happened to you."  
  
Well, if that wasn't the gayest thing Antonio Higgins had ever heard. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond as he took another intake from his tank. How the hell did Spot always get him so flustered?! It wasn't fair! Race was a dumb gay and Spot just made it worse! He was everything Race wanted in a guy and so much more. The only problem was that Race would never tell him this. He'd convinced himself Spot could never feel the same. "All this over a box of nuggets?" He asked, bemused. "That really got you worried, Spotty?"   
  
Spot managed to roll his eyes at that. "Nah. Just realised I've never told you how much you mean to me." Racetrack's heart skipped a beat. It seemed Spot was playing his heartstrings like a fiddle. He tried to focus on filling his lungs with steam again and not the harsh blush covering his face. "And this ain't just drunk ramblings, Racetrack! It's fact!" Spot poked him to reiterate his point. Race was practically swooning at that. Was it really possible to be this hopelessly gay? Either way, his crush on Spot Conlon was growing by the second. "A fact I'll always stand by."   
  
Far too soon for Race to be comfortable with, the pair made it back to Spot's dorm. With a sigh, he helped the far too drunk boy into this flat then into his room. With that, Race turned to leave but Spot grabbed his arm. "Too late and dark to be heading out alone, Racer." He scolded softly, pulling him closer to the bed. "Ain't gunna let you go back out there alone." Spot whispered.   
  
Race was touched. "I can just call a cab." He pointed out - even if he loved the prospect of spending the night in Spot's bed.   
  
"What if I want you to stay?"  
  
Racetrack swallowed nervously at that. "...At least let me put the nuggets in tbe firdge first." It was a poor excuse to get away but one Spot seemed to buy as he let go of Race's arm. Thank God. The blonde darted into the kitchen with the sharebox in hand. Race was thankful that Spot's flatmate, Henley - nicknamed Hot Shot by all his friends -  was still out on the bar crawl. He really didn't need anyone seeing hm what felt like minutes away from a complete breakdown. Spot fucking Conlon of all people wanted Racetrack to spend the night sharing his bed. It was probably a drunken misunderstanding. Come morning, Spot would probably just tell him to leave and never come back. Yet right now? Race couldn't quite bring himself to leave. Placing the box of nuggets on the bottom shelf of the fridge, Race closed the door a little harder than necessary before heading back into Spot's room.   
  
Spot raised an eyebrow at him. "Was starting to think you'd made like an egg and beat it, Higgins."   
  
"Bail on you, Conlon? Never."   
  
"here." Spot somewhat lazily threw one of his t-shirts in Race's general direction. "Figured you'd want something more comfortable to sleep in." He yawned loudly.   
  
"Thanks, Spotty." Race couldn't help but flush red once more; the blush going from his neck to the tips of his ears when he noticed Spot staring whilst he changed. Whilst Race had Spot beat when it came to height, Spot had him beat in terms of his broady shoulder and muscles, thus his t-shirt somewhat drooped on Race. Oddly, he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He was wearing Spot Conlon's t-shirt! Race set his shoes and jacket by the door, quickly moving to lay besides Spot. Almost instantly, the smaller boy had his arms around Race. "SO, what is this? Didn't take you as the cuddling type."   
  
Spot just pulled him even closer at that. "Is it really so hard to believe I like you, Racer? Like really like you?" Race froze. "Because I'm awfully fond of you, pretty boy." This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. He'd probably just misheard him, right? Yet the look on Spot's face said otherwise.   
  
"Tell me that again in the morning when you're sober." Racetrack whispered, finally returning Spot's hug. "Then maybe I'll believe you." As much as he wanted to, he knew better than to believe the words of a drunk man. Even if that drunk man was the man Race was entirely in love with.   
  
"I will." Spot promised almost instantly, moving to press a kiss to Race's forehead. Racetrack moved back before he could, unwilling to let Spot's drunken affections go too far. No matter what, he wouldn't take advantage of him like this. It didn't take long for Spot to fall asleep with Race following him shortly after.   
  
Racetrack woke up at what was far too early a time in his opinion. 8am. He wanted nothing more than to curl closer into Spot's side and sleep until gone noon. But he was too much of a coward to do that. He was certain Spot would would take back his drunken confession and that was something Race couldn't deal with. Not from Spot.   
  
Racetrack tried to be as quier as he could as he put his shoes and jacket back on, not wanting to wale Spot. As he moved to leave the flat, he paused. Spot had said hed picked the nuggets for Race and cold chicken nuggets were an entirely valid breakfast. He made a beeline for the fridge. As he opened the box, Race couldn't help but laugh. Its half empty status was a clear sign Hot Shot had made it back perfectly fine the night before. He was glad. A missing flatmate was probably the last thing hungover Spot needed. Race felt bad enough leaving unanounced when he knew Spot would be entirely hungover, but he refused to stay.   
  
Racetrack tucked the sharebox under his arm as he walked home, only stopping to get a coffee on the way. God knows he needed it after such little sleep. A large expresso? More like a blessing in disguise. He couldn't bring himself to entirely calm down until he was safe inside his flat and Spot Conlon was entirely to blame. His confession played over and over again in Race's mind and it made his heart ache. It also wasn't until he was home that he realised something else. He was still wearing Spot's shirt. Shit.   
  
Trying his best to ignore his current prediciment, Race sat his nuggets on the side before going to check on Albert. He couldn't help but smile at the sight inside the room. Albert was curled up with the stranger from the previous night - Elmer if the name on the back of the shirt on the floor was anything to go by. The name was vaguely familiar. Racetrack was sure Spot had mentioned him a few times before. Thinking of Spot made his heart hurt even more. He couldn't help but take a picture of the two together for his snapchat story with a simple caption of 'UwU What's this?". He was sure Albert would kill him for it later. With that, Race headed back into the kitchen to finish his 'breakfast'. He couldn't help the cigar he slipped between his lips after. He was stressed and needed something to calm his nerves.   
  
After a brief encounter with Albert, Race decided to force his sleep-deprived brain back to working on his essay. It wasn't the most pleasant experience. Still, he forced himself to keep working. That was, of course, until his phone buzzed as a text came through.   
  
[New message from 'Polka-dots']  
  
Shit. Race deliberated for a few moments before opening it. He could already imagine what said inside. 'I was only joking last night' or 'i never want to see you again'. Eventually, race managed to open the message.   
  
**[13:34pm] I still like you, pretty boy. A lot.**  
 **[13:35pm] You wanna grab a coffee sometime?**   
  
Racetrack stared at his phone in shock. This wasn't how things were supposed to go! He scrambled to type out a response.   
  
_[13:40pm] I'd like that._   
  
**[13:42pm] That's great! Does 3 work for you?**   
  
_[13:43pm] That works perfectly, Spotty._   
  
Race didn't think he could stop smiling if he tried.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!! or hmu on tumblr (desert-lily) with any prompts or feedback!


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